No Weapons, Just Words
by Nicole Silverwolf
Summary: There was unspoken but definite trust between them built over thousands of insignificant moments strung together by coincidences. AC1, part of the 1fandom challenge on lj.


Disclaimer: Not Mine. The End.

A/N: The one sentence challenge from LJ's 1fandom community all set in AC1. Interpret the relationships as you wish. I personally see Altair and Malik eventually developing a deep and abiding friendship (close to the concept of agape) but you can decide whether to tip the scale to romantic or not.

I rearranged the sentences (and consequently the theme order) to make more sense chronologically.

**No Weapons, Just Words**

By, Nicole Silverwolf

"_Words, when well chosen, have so great a force in them, that a description often gives us more lively ideas than the sight of things themselves." -John Addison_

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**Birth **

The Brotherhood was not created by any single individual and as the ranks swelled from a few to many, so did the need for a set of rules to guide them.

**Meet **

Al Mualim watched from the tower overlooking the whole of Masyaf and the approaching caravan with a critically appraising eye.

**Sweat**

To say they were sweating the first time they found themselves scolded by Master Al Mualim was true; it neglected the part about how every encounter was the same.

**Fruit **

"If I die because you _miss_, I'll haunt you," Malik growled while a preoccupied Altair carefully aimed his throwing knife at the apple balanced on top of the elder's head.

**Strike **

Altair felt the reverberation in his teeth, managed to hold onto the sword and just barely countered Malik's sharp training blow.

**Lovely **

Elegance wasn't a requirement in their profession, but there was something beautiful about deploying a hidden blade accurately so there were mere instants between life and a painless death.

**Hunt **

Senses on the highest alert, a single Templar moved cautiously slow into the clearing that to the average eye would seem deserted.

**Pattern **

Each of the major cities had a rhythm of their own, but every mission followed a routine that never changed.

**Cover **

White shadows shielded face and eyes so that no one ever knew exactly which of them it was that struck.

**Lick **

The paper was eaten by flames that greedily devoured any trace of instruction.

**Family**

Malik and Kadar were rare exceptions to the Brotherhood, most never knew who their blood siblings were if they even had any.

**Wheel **

Wings that easily spanned the length of outstretched arms flashed gold in the light, fluttering as the raptor wheeled away from the perch now occupied by a crouching man.

**Fling **

A leap of faith required precision, skill and a level of confidence that novices occasionally interpreted as recklessness.

**Thirst **

Sharing water skins was not a gesture taken lightly in a country where the liquid was scarce and yet Altair didn't think twice about handing his over to Malik.

**Wonder **

There was unspoken but definite trust between them built over thousands of insignificant moments strung together by coincidences.

**Scold**

It was rare to be scolded for your mistakes; death was more often the punishment for failing in the field.

**Breathe **

"If he's screaming he's still alive," the healer growled at his two assistants who continued holding Malik down and watched the older man with terrified eyes.

**House **

Standing inside the small nearly featureless room made it nothing more than a shelter without his brother there to share it.

**Hurt **

Hand clutching at bandages futilely, Malik's expression became stoic and impassive as the healer finally admitted it would always ache.

**Kind **

Staring down at the broken dagger-Kadar's precious totem when alive—Malik half wondered if the fight to stay among the living was worth it.

**Move **

It was a thousand different things to relearn, yet Malik's stubbornness helped when he decided to climb out of the bureau on his own.

**Fog **

It was unnatural, flooding every corner of his world and it made Altair flinch violently every time mist came on the heals of death.

**Double **

For a brief second Desmond glanced a reflection of Altair (of himself) in still waters, enough to confirm they could have been twins.

**Rough **

He wasn't sure why he was surprised that the midnight robes they draped him in felt no different than the clothes of a novice or a master assassin.

**Taut **

Every time they crossed paths it was with sharp, angry words and tension pushing them further apart.

**Warm **

The words were rote, yet depending on where he was _'safety and peace'_ could remind him of the home he had or the betrayal he'd committed.

**Cut **

A flat hand across the air was enough to stop any explanation, excuse or apology Altair could have made.

**Figure **

"You can figure out what to do for yourself; it's clear you don't need my advice," Malik growled from behind the Bureau's desk, furious enough to deny Altair the assistance the mission required.

**Then **

The soft thump of entry to the Bureau was unmistakable, but when there was no answering shift that followed, Malik slid cautiously from his seat dagger in hand.

**Lie **

Hours of frantic medical patching later, it was still debatable but possible that Altair would survive to tell him it was 'just a scratch'.

**Sleep**

Altair found it amazing how a pile of worn pillows and threadbare blankets could bring such comfort so long as he was in Jerusalem's Bureau.

**Help **

"It won't kill you to ask," Altair pointed out when Malik climbed to his side and warmly snarked "I know and I'll ask when I need it."

**Swim**

Staring across the port city of Acre towards the isolated tower in the bay, Altair regretted never learning how to navigate the water outside of pawing through it.

**Glass **

Altair didn't make the mistake twice; Malik had developed a roundhouse kick that left bone deep bruising to compensate for the absence of his arm.

**Resist **

There were days when the urge to run across roofs, crisscrossing the city just for the joy of freedom tugged hard enough that they closed the bureau to indulge it.

**Sorry **

More than a hasty (if honestly heartfelt) apology before his last mission in Jerusalem, Altair found his way to forgiveness by treating Malik no differently than when he had both of his arms.

**Cycle **

"There will always be more novices to train," Master Al Mualim pronounced shortly, "and some of them will not survive."

**Live**

"Because the wisest person I ever knew made me promise to come back," Altair said with no small amount of pride at the shock written across Malik's eyes.

**Interest **

Master level assassins rarely had time to personally train novices, but Altair was strangely always willing to take a moment with even the youngest member.

**All**

"It won't show you everything Altair, it's just taking parts of you!" Malik shouted at the man gripping a golden trinket in shaking hands.

**Glow **

The light was too bright to blame on candle alone and Malik raged until he found Altair slumped asleep at the desk for the first time in days.

**Slight **

The shift might have gone unnoticed to anyone, but a master assassin was trained to notice the codex had been moved and read while he slept.

**Inspire **

"When did you come up with this?" Malik asked-genuinely curious-as he fingered the rough design for the right handed hidden blade.

**Before **

"Come inside before you end up on your back for weeks; we're not novices anymore and it's damn cold out."

**Teach**

Words failed him that first morning, and for years after Malik teased him about the first lesson Altair ever had to teach and how terrified of children he'd been.

**Call **

Novice was only a description and yet somehow it became an endearment between them long after both had rose to the rank of Masters of the Order.

**Jewel **

The Brotherhood's archives were some of the largest in the known world, filled with recorded knowledge rarer than any polished stone.

**Zero **

It would be generations but eventually the walls and towers of Masyaf were ground into unrecognizable dust.

**Record **

"Sometimes I wonder if these words will survive whatever is to come after us," Altair admitted one day after a heated argument over the Apple's use.

**Mistake **

History would not remember the loss of Malik's arm or the part that Altair played in its death, but that single mistake shaped every action of the Order thereafter.

_**Owari**_

_So...comments, criticisms, flames, praise...anything you'd like to throw at me? Please do so now._

_Thanks for reading_.


End file.
